


Our Burning Home

by cowboycruncher



Series: Valdonia: Realm of Mages [5]
Category: Original Work, Valdonia: Realm of Mages
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Dissociation, M/M, Murder, Redemption, Stabbing, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27761491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboycruncher/pseuds/cowboycruncher
Summary: Compelled by the Ringmaster's influence, Praxitus returns to his hometown to take his revenge upon his family.
Series: Valdonia: Realm of Mages [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934920
Kudos: 4





	Our Burning Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noah/gifts).



From the hill he sat upon, Praxitus could see his little hometown with ease, his idle fingers gently brushing through the forelock of his beloved horse that dozed happily next to him, the animal’s large head resting heavily in his lap. Down there he knew a warm house was waiting for him, that there were people inside praying desperately for him to come home—but from atop his perch, here, with the winds brushing his dark hair away from his eyes and blowing through the feathers of his pony’s legs, he knew that he could never come back. Blood still dripped from his blade and polluted the grass around him; the item was discarded a few feet away, but he could smell its stench as if it were underneath his nostrils. Marphilianitus was dead, bleeding coldly in his own home while his mother—well, he had no idea how Nasaka was feeling, or what she was doing.  
  
Resting his head gently back, he recalled the events of the evening, relishing in the sweet taste murder had left in his mouth.  
  


* * *

  
  
Kicking the door open, Praxitus marched into the Calciphorum estate’s mansion. The grand front hall was empty, wherever his parents were, they had to be deeper in the house somewhere. Tilting his skull from left to right, he cracked the vertebrae lining his neck. Knowing his father’s schedule certainly did wonders, he thought bitterly, as he marched up the steps to his father’s study. Just as he arrived at the top of the stairs, the door to the study flew open, revealing the bristled form of the man he despised so heinously. For his part, the councilman was confused beyond all grief.  
  
“Who _the hell_ are you?” Marphilianitus demanded, a moment before his eyes dropped to the blade in Praxitus’ hand. The younger of the two men held the advantage of a mask and upturned hood to hide his identity, but a certain clarity settled on his father’s features despite him saying nothing further.  
  
Rapid footsteps from below briefly trickled noise into Praxitus’ ear as his mother came rushing to locate the source of the commotion. It mattered not, she would never stop him. Striding forward, Praxitus raised his arm, poising his wrist above his head as a means of aiming his angled blade at his father, who rushed back in fear; he had no weapon, no means to defend himself. Every burst of fire that then flew from the councilman’s fists, Praxitus deflected, aiming the element away from his bodice as he intently stepped on. The doorway was the first to go up in flames, the wood of the study quickly becoming alight around them as Praxitus continued to lazily defend himself from his father’s useless attacks.  
  
“What do you want? _Money_?” Marphilianitus questioned demandingly as the corner where he would die drew ever closer, feet stumbling underneath of himself as he attempted to flee.  
  
_“Recompense.”_ Praxitus whispered back, his voice barely audible over the roaring sounds of the fire that galloped across the floor and walls around them. The councilman’s eyes widened in fear, for he knew—he knew there was no reasoning with a man with a vendetta. _Thump_. There was the sound of his boots colliding with the bookshelf just a moment before his shoulder blades connected with the hard wood. The temperature in the room was reaching new heights, just as Praxitus’ blood boiled underneath of his skin.  
  
“I’ve waited so long for this,” he said, a desperate edge almost painting his voice in psychopathy. Twisting the blade around in his hand, he peered at his father’s golden eyes through his mask, reveling in the fear he saw there. It was finally time for this slime to be subject to the same suffering he had put his own son through; it made Praxitus... almost _smile_. Reaching up, he pulled the mask down until it was freed and clattered unceremoniously upon the floor. Recognition spilled over Marphilianitus’ face as he peered back into the deranged face of someone whom he had once referred to as kin.  
  
“Mar!” Nasaka’s voice rang through, sharp and fearful over the roaring fire that had engulfed the room. Praxitus dared not move, he dared not turn his back on his father to meet the desperate eyes of his scared mother. It was never his intent to harm her, but he had no choice—that was what he had been told, _this was the only way_ , and _oh, gods_ , he had _craved_ it; his arm ached from the effort of holding it up so powerfully for so long.  
  
“Don’t do this. Not in front of your mother.” Marphilianitus reasoned, affixing a displeased look on his face. Fuck! If he wasn’t always disapproving! He had never been proud, he had never been loving, understanding, careful, cautious, supportive—he was always _upset_! Praxitus’ jaw clenched tight as fresh anger pierced his bloodstream like a volley of hot poison. Before he had registered it, he was driving the point of his blade into his father’s neck, gutting him like a chicken being prepared for roast.  
  
And then it was two, three, four, five stab wounds—Marphilianitus had collapsed to the floor, and Praxitus was still stabbing him, coating them both in his blood; his mother’s screams were lost upon him—he watched himself as if from over his own shoulder. The wood was croaking beneath him as the floor burned, the weight of the bookshelves violating the structural integrity of the room... and yet, on he stabbed, until he was panting, until he was choking on smoke and—  
  
He was being pulled, grabbed, ushered. Praxitus came back to himself in a rush, looking up at his mother as if he had been woken up from a dream. It was only then that he registered that he couldn’t breathe, and he hunched over just as his mother tucked her small figure beneath his shoulder and yanked him to his feet. With her assistance, he dragged himself out of the room, coughing loudly as his blade dragged across the floor beside him, smearing blood as they went.  
  
“What have you done, Titus?” The nickname made him frown, for a moment he wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. _Titus_? Nasaka had not called him that since he was a child, which is exactly how he felt trying to think of an answer to her question.  
  
“I don’t know, mom,” he admitted through coughs as they hurriedly rushed down the steps. Nasaka said nothing else as they made for the back door to the household. No doubt neighbors would be rushing to assist what with the fire currently gearing to destroy the property. Ash, soot, blood and sweat clung to his figure as he securely stumbled along with his mother; he wondered what her intentions were. Would she admit to witnessing his crime, or was she attempting to cover for him? If she went to the Council about this, he would be tried and executed for his crime—but then, with Nelles gone, he really had no quarrel with that outcome.  
  
Spluttering and hiccupping, he collapsed into the grass outside of the household when they were free, spitting up remnants of the fire just as Nasaka kneeled beside him.  
  
“My son, you _must_ go. If you stay, you’ll be discovered and there will be nothing I can do to help you,” she urged, grabbing Praxitus’ face and wiping away a bit of spit that clung to his chin. Looking up at her, he realized that he loved her very much. It had never occurred to him prior to that moment—she still looked so beautiful after all these years, and as she drew her thumbs across his skin, he found himself wishing to stay within her embrace for the rest of his miserable existence.  
  
“Where will you go, mom?”  
  
“I... will probably be asked to sit on the Council in your father’s stead. But, please, Titus, you have to go!” With that, she stood, reaching for his hands and pulling him to his feet all in one fluid motion. As she whistled for Bud and desperately waited for him to appear, he took the time to admire her—his mother. Closing his eyes, he pulled her small figure into his arms and held her tight. Instantly, she returned the affectionate gesture, guiding her hands reassuringly across his back. “You’ll be okay, my son. Come find me when you’ve gotten yourself out of whatever mess you’ve created, do you hear me?”  
  
“Yes, mom.”  
  
“Now go, Titus!” With that, she detached from him and urged him toward his horse just as the stallion came to a stop beside them. “Take ‘Dallion and go!”  
  
“It’s _Buddy_ ,” Praxitus whined. Nasaka merely waved her hand dismissively at him as he rolled his eyes back at her and clambered into his saddle. Before taking off, however, he looked back at her just as she clasped her hands together and met his eyes. “I love you, mom,” he admitted through a cough.  
  
“I love you, too, Praxitus,” Nasaka whispered back, and he swore he caught a glint of a tear in her eye. With no further room for discussion, he took off, galloping away from the burning mansion and his mother’s petite figure as the night sky began to turn orange and shouts from nearby homes rang through the air.   
  


* * *

  
“Let’s get going.” Praxitus murmured as he shook Buddy awake. The horse snuffled in displeasure at him, but rolled onto his hooves all the same. Now that he has cleared the ash and soot from his lungs, Praxitus felt comfortable beginning to make the hike back down to Nirdale.  
  
With one final glance at the city, he once again pulled himself into Bud’s saddle.  
  


* * *

  
“We confirmed the body as belonging to Marphilianitus Calciphorum. Nasaka said it was just them, and that she had not seen her husband all night prior to the fire starting. The body was too badly charred for us to discern a cause of death, but we’re guessing he died before the fire began. Or, he set it himself.”  
  
Nelles looked to Ilias—who met his gaze—before back at the town guard that stood before them both.  
  
“You think it was a suicide?” Ilias asked quietly, in his ever-cautious voice.  
  
“It’s a possibility. There are signs of forced entry from the front door, meaning there was intruder. It is possible he was defending himself—but Nasaka said everything was peaceful before the fire began, so we really have nothing to go on.”  
  
Ilias shifted uncomfortably. Nelles agreed: time to leave. “Very well, thank you. Please let us know if you find anything else.”  
  
“Understood. Will do, professor.” Ilias tucked his arm around Nelles and helped him on their trek back to Cohald. When they were out of earshot of the guard and the townsfolk, he spoke quietly. “Do you think it’s him?”  
  
“Part of me says yes, who else would do this? Not Jespriy. But part of me wants to say no, because this is _murder_ , Ilias.”  
  
“I know. This is...” Ilias sucked in a quiet breath as he they hiked the trail ascending Stephall Overlook. “...he would be a killer, Nelles.” It was almost choked as it left the professor’s lips. The archer pulled against him said nothing for the remainder of their walk, his mind doing somersaults. If Praxitus _had_ committed that crime, he would still be in the area—he could be in Cohald somewhere as they marched on, but he was in no condition to find or face him. If he wanted to come back, he would, but this stunt was like painting his name mockingly across the various wanted posters all across the continent. If he was discovered, he would be executed, he _must_ know that. But that was if he had been the one to kill Marphilianitus, which they still did not have—and hopefully wouldn’t find—proof for.  
  
Oberon was still awake—always was—when Ilias and Nelles returned to the infirmary. Nelles’ injury had been steady healing with daily treatments from the tired physician, but it would leave a scar. Well, another scar, that was—as if Nelles hadn’t already begun making a collection thus far. Settling down with Ilias’ help into his designated bed, he detangled from the professor and looked up at him with an arguably stressed expression. For his part, Ilias imparted a comforting smile upon him and gently brushed his fingers through his friend’s hair, doing his best to assure him of all his woes.  
  
They both knew neither of them would be sleeping properly that night, and it was probably only a matter of hours before they sought each other out again, but nevertheless, for Oberon’s sake it was best to keep up the appearance of a goodbye.  
  
“We’ll figure it out, Nelles,” Ilias affirmed, helping him underneath of the sheets and blankets and tucking him in comfortably. “You do not have to tackle this alone. I am not going anywhere.”  
  
Nelles smiled at that. Finally, someone who wouldn’t run or… leave him behind. “I don’t know what we’re going to do when we do figure it out. I kind of- don’t.. want to.”  
  
Ilias wrapped himself up within his cloak as he always did, tucking his arms away like a bat preparing for sleep. “We will figure that out, too. Take your obstacles as they come, Nelles, you cannot jump over a log that has not crossed your path yet. I will see you in the morning after class, alright? Try not to drive the old man insane until then.” The professor teased, shooting the youngest Penet of the clan a wink. Nelles merely sighed, nodded, and glared over at Oberon for a moment.  
  
“See you tomorrow, Ilias,” he said just as his former teacher departed with a wave, leaving Nelles to his thoughts for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to learn more about the universe where these characters are from? Check out the Discord server - to join, just shoot me a message @ cowboycruncher#7497.


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